Panther Park there's a humming in the restless summer air

early morning. cool, clear; a few hours post-rainshower. maybe a wild @Donovan Azura?

nares flare, drawing in petrichor and earth. birdsong erupts sporadically from the canopy, sharp melodies cutting through the dreary morning silence. sunlight dapples the earth, and in one corner of the glade is tugged away and bound together to form a wolf. it blinks, auds shifting atop a blazing crown. a stiff movement of its muzzle seeking to smooth down an errant tuft of fur, before once more it stares forward, waiting. 

and there they come. it is a small herd, no more than four individuals. but two bear fawns, young and new and liable to mistakes. that familiar thrill echoes down her spine; and the huntress tenses and then unfurls, rising with languid grace. she becomes a roving ray of light, as inconsequential as a mote of dust as she drifts after the herd. always out of sight, slipping after on the boundaries of their awareness. 

to hunt alone required more tact, more care, than to do so as a group. the margin of error allowed was extraordinarily thin, and so the sun-kisses followed, a burning shadow, and waited for the right set of circumstances to unfold. 

Their restless journey has sought him to find time to spend alone. Time to heal his aching muscles from their nonstop trek to the Redsand canyon. He drifts further from his group. He does this occasionally to find time to think, to contemplate and meditate on his fathers vision of the pack. How he led the Saints before coming to these odd lands. How his father would’ve wanted it.

So here he is, lost in the eternal fire of his thoughts. An infinite sea of embers quivering like the light of a candle in his mind. His massive body continues forth automatically, wandering pointlessly just as his mind is. He’s confident in his steps as usual, tail curled neatly on his hips, head and neck level with a strong, straight back. Muscles shift beneath his extravagant coat and his thick forearms are damp as the dew from the previous nights rain huh onto the blades of grass only to be deposited onto his fur.

He’s enraptured so much by his thoughts he almost doesn’t notice the long legged animals grazing just a hundred meters away from him. He stops suddenly, golden hues flicking to each one of them.
Then a bright splash of color in the drab  lighting of the morning sun reaches his eyes, noticing another wolf closer to him then the herd is. Tilting his head he realizes that they’re hunting, eyes going between the two spots of interest. He stays in place but clears his throat quiet enough as to not scare the deer. A smile bears on his maw and he begins creeping forth to crouch beside them, or at least near them.

Cool gold eyes meet the strangers own and he gestures to the animals ahead with a jerk of his muzzle in their direction. “Need some help with those?” He hums to her, voice low in a whisper but it still holds the attractive baritone his voice usually carries.

there is simplicity in this, a kind of divine balance. her and those who's life she seeks to steal, following, analyzing, watching the steps of cloven hooves and the thousand tiny movements that belie their intentions. the sound of earth underfoot, and pointed muzzle swings toward the newest player in this game. 

gold meets gold as her gaze meets his, gaze narrowing as she considers the man. a brute, as if chiseled from granite. raw power is what he offers, and so her target shifts. she does not reply immediately, instead motioning to one of the does. " our mark. I will cut her to you. " allowing a stranger to intercept her hunt is discontenting, but the doe is not a target she can take on her own. 

the creature in question is the oldest in its group, the only one of the trio of does without a fawn. she appears, for all intents and purposes, not dissimilar to the rest of them. but it the details that mark her for death; the hitch in her step, the way she reacts to a brush of wind, the snap of something in the distance, a second later than the rest of the group. she will trap the doe between a rock and a hard place, the latter being the small mountain armed with fangs that was the wandering male.

Donovan nods once in acknowledgment of her quickly thought out plan. “Yes ma’am.” Is all he says with a predatory glance at their soon to be meal.

Staying low, he stands enough to begin shifting himself into a better position to allow the crimson wolf to lead the deer to him easier. His gait becomes faster and soon enough he’s nearing a trot far enough away from the herd. He won’t startle them at this distance, only bring their gullible eyes to him so the mysterious female can get the jump on them.

he is smarter, it appears, than she'd initially given him credit for. his agreement earns a flick of her auds, but the fire-swept does not shift the stony expression on her features. " we begin. " they separate, and leanly muscled limbs carry her downwind, out of sight as the male takes position. far enough as not to startle them, but near enough so that they take notice, their attention stolen. 

a moment passes, wavering. a cicada screams, the huntress coils tightly in on herself, shifting, forward leaning. she unfurls. explosive leap carries her easily over the ground-hugging bracken, and the deer start. the collective flinch passes through the group, and they swerve to the right. she is a banner of fire, arching toward the doe as she tries to follow. she collides with a haunch, dagger-like fangs tearing loosely across the skin there. the doe screams, shrill. the birdsong is ended. 

the fire-swept needs only a few more moments to cut her away entirely, the rest of the herd flying through the trees, towards the plains. for a moment, the doe is stubborn, but finally, does she shift to run in the direction of the mountain-wolf, artemis at her heels.

Coin gold orbs follow her slithering form stalking behind the unsuspecting herd. His excited grin never falters, neither do his eyes. They are stuck to the elegant form of the nameless she-wolf, flicking occasionally to their target. His gait is firm and strong and he watches with great anticipation as she stills, the calm before the storm. The click of the trigger before a bullet is ejected from the barrel of a gun. A moment of calm for death. Then she’s speeding towards them, weaving in and out of the deer that don’t hold their interest, instead she has her eyes on the prize and is doing an excellent job at beginning to herd the animal his way.

His own muscles twitch which the anticipation. They’re wound taught as he shifts his stance and plants his paws firmly. Getting ready to dart for the doe himself, his heart pumps blood through him rapidly; the hunt never gets old.

As the fiery woman nears, her pearly white fangs becoming stained with the animals life force. She’s expertly nipping and turning the animal towards him. The doe fights at first, refuses to bend to the flame licking her with its deadly heat. Eventually, she relents. The burns becoming too much to bear, she’s heading right towards him and Donovan’s muscles tense. Just like earlier, he hones himself in on his target, the wolf behind her only a mere afterthought as he’s taking his chance and sprinting forth. He doesn’t have to go far, before he’s toe to toe with the hooved animal. He shoves his body into it and is surprised to see its gangly lets keep its body afloat. Then he shoots his massive a head forward with a viciousness one could feel in their soul, teeth bearing dangerously and he plants them securely into the does neck with a solid jump. Front paws lift off the ground and his mouth is already filling with blood due to his assault.

The victory is short lived. The weight of the males body and the awkward angle to which he hangs on is bringing the doe down. I’m the blink of an eye Donovan’s limbs entangle with the deers and they’re rolling and sliding in the grass in a heap of blood, confusion, and limbs. If Donovan were more fragile he probably would’ve gotten hurt by getting tumbled on by the full grown deer. He’s sure he’ll only sport bruises and scrapes from the hunting escapade.

Hey there they go skidding through the grass, and finally coming to a halt. Kicking limbs out in blind panic it tries standing, but it’s legs do not comply and blood spills from its wounds, leaving it light headed. Donovan gets a leg stuck beneath the animal and struggles to escape from the weight, looking to the sangria wolf for assistance, while the doe  flops its clumsy limbs about in panic.

a wave come to break against rock shore; the male erupts in their path. artemis veers to the left, though does not immediately continue her attack on the creature. the pair collide, momentum coming to sudden, decisive halt as they struggle, and fall. light on her paws, arrow searching for its mark, the huntress waits until the mess of limbs and bloodied fur that is her mark and her partner still. 

when the doe tries to rise, she moves. she flies for its neck. jaws seizing tightly the hollow where the lifeblood pumps. the strength in her lunge is enough to have the animal crash to the ground again; this time, not on top of the mountain. jaws tighten, tear, even as she forces her weigh to the animal's throat, pressing it into the earth. the well of blood, swift and sudden around her fangs is signal that she has breached the sinew and tissue protecting the jugular from the fangs of those who wish to rent it. limbs kick, wildly,  but slower now, and the cloven hoof that glances across her side contains barely enough strength to leave a bruise.

Intelligently, the female wolf waits for them both to still instead of throwing herself into the heap of madness. His savior is swift on her feet and he’s able to slip his leg out from beneath the animal when she attacks next. As soon as he’s free, Donovan whips his head around to watch her muzzle clamp onto the deers neck. Her canines tipping dangerously and he can see fresh blood beginning to flow from the wound, covering the ruby wolves chops and neck an even darker shade of crimson.

He can’t help the way his golden eyes watch the brutality of the she wolf before a bloody smirk contorts his face, revealing blood stained teeth. In no time he’s drawn into action, coming to clamp his jaws around the remaining space of the does long neck. Where the shewolf grabs and holds, he snatches and crunches, repeatedly flexing powerful jaws. Pleasure courses through him as an audible crunch sounds out between them, signaling of the savage break age of bones.

When the doe finally stills, he gives a light shake of his massive head to the delicate and hardly hanging on neck of the doe. Letting go, he stands tall and confident, looking like the devil himself. Blood drips like poison from his maw and stains the cream of his cheeks and chest. His teeth are stained and a black tongue flicks out to run along his teeth and lips, cleaning them. Canary orbs settle of the scarlet wolf before him and he smiles deviously to her, a knowing charm in his eyes as he casually quirks a circular brow at her, maintaining eye contact.

“You’re good at that, darling.” His honeyed voice comments, slipping out a low chuckle at the end. He allows his tongue to lull out of his maw to pant lightly.

the mountain moves to grasp hold of the creature's neck alongside her, and the flame-swept takes the oppurtunity to loose her own hold, pivoting around the forelimbs as fangs tear open the tender parchment that is the doe's underbelly, coating her muzzle entirely in blood and ensuring that the doe bleeds out as swiftly as possible. fangs find and seperate a lobe of the doe's liver with a neat tug of her muzzle, the morsel consumed just before the last of the life fades from the creature. lungs empty for the last time, and it is done. 

she does not bother to clean the blood from her muzzle as he does, regarding him evenly as he seeks eye contact yet again. " I know. " she states, breaking away from his gaze then as she repositions herself at the underbelly of the creature, made ravenous. a brief lash of her gaze over the rented abdominal cavity. it is more than even the two of them could eat; she does not like the idea of it being left her for scavengers. " are you alone? " even as she question fades on the air, she motions with her muzzle, moving to tear again into the deers abdomen. the message is clear; eat.

At her confident I know he snickers, stepping closer to the soft, opened belly of the now dead creature. Dipping his muzzle into the innards of the hooved beast, he rips a questionable chunk of meat out, chewing it fervently. Then his hues lift as she asks him a question. Swallowing his current mouthful he answers.

“No. My pack is a good few miles west of here. We’re small in numbers, only about four others. Enough to make work of this.” He says it casually. “What about you, dear? Are you traveling alone?” The question is genuine. He wouldn’t mind seeing more of her. Breaking eye contact he tears more flesh from the deer.

his pack, he claims, though is it is a statement of ownership or affiliation she can not quite discern. judging by his size and the boldness with which he acts, she guesses at the former. her brow raises a fraction as he claims they'd make work of the creature before them. " call them. " she suggests, tailtip twitching behind her. rather wolves on her terms than scavengers that consume whatever will be left of the doe. she does not expect to linger here long enough to guard the decaying remains. 

fangs tug at a stubborn kidney, eventually tearing it free and making quick work of it. " I am, dearest, " she replies, the last word dry as she turns his irritating term of endearment back at him. tongue flicks to sweep over the side of a finely cut muzzle, catching a bloodied morsel there. " what do you call yourselves? " she queries, catching his golden gaze with her own once again.

Her suggestion to call them is one he will heed after he’s done speaking to the interesting woman. He is unmoved at her dry tease, it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. He likes a bit of fire in a woman. He hums a noise of acknowledgment at her with a cock of his brows and a interested smile. Craning his head down to take another bite, he waits to chew and swallow before answering.

“Saints of the Dying Light.” Is his simple reply. “We’re quite the savages.” He jokes rolling his eyes when the memory of the coastal wolves interrogation comes to mind. Internally bristling at the thought of their prissy foreign leader. “We’re heading east to a canyon of red sands. It’s beautiful there. Have you ever been?” The question is delivered with an enticing tilt of his head.

he offers a name, and her lips thin. " wordy, " she comments, and then, " who is your god? " saints, she knows, are some version of priestesses, and the words seems to counter the apparently savage nature of this man's pack. though, she supposes, the word is subjective.  

the next question has her offer an elegant motion of her muzzle no. she moves to a haunch, tearing into the skin and flesh there even as a raucous pair of grey jays settle in the trees nearby, waiting for an opening. it is hard to believe a place he describes would exist here, but a flick of her auds signals her interest in the place.

Donovan chuckles. If she’d like a real explanation of their pack then he’d give her one. “I help those who are searching for purpose find one. Even if one has a purpose the Saints help them thrive through physical and mental training. We’re ready to spill blood if provoked and  prideful in our trade of death.” He offers the explanation then snickers. “I let the members of my pack believe whatever the fuck they want. All I care about is loyalty the Saints. As for me? I don’t have a god, I’m the closest thing to a god I could get.” He boasts, half jestingly.

He levels his head with his spine and gives her an interested look before going down for a bite of the carcass. “Tell me, where do you rein from? What’re your beliefs? What’s your name?” 

no words spared for the canyon, then, but instead he elaborates on his pack. the flame-swept's brow raises as he compares himself to a god, pausing in her work to pull free another mouthful of flesh. "vain, aren't you? to partake in the religion of yourself." her gaze is critical, wary of his hyperbole, his hubris. 

"that place is gone, now, and their beliefs died with them." a moment of consideration, and then, "you can call me artemis." she tugs free her intended mouthful; already the hunger that presses like a blade against her stomach grows dull, fading. an inclination of her head asks him the same question he'd asked her.

Her weary gaze isn’t missed by him but it doesn’t do anything but cause his smirk to grow. “Some call me vain. Others call me a Saint. Perhaps both is the right answer.” He hums ominously, a touch of comedic relief can be found in the words of one looks hard enough.

At the blatant refusal to share anything of her past Donovan nods, he understands. He won’t pry about ones past if they don’t wish to speak of it willingly. Then as she speaks the syllables that make up her name he tilts his head. “Interesting.“ He wonder about the origin of her name. His mind drifts to the young shewolf, Aphrodite. Her name is religious is it not?

Then finally he allows his own name to come confidently from his lips. “Donovan Azura of the Abbey. Where do your travels take you, Artemis? Perhaps our paths could align.”

his name, his title are offered confidently. only now that her hunger is a forgotten thing does she swipe her tongue over her lips, tasting heady metal. she'll groom later, for now, the man offers something she can not yet name, something vague. she considers a moment, weighing the options she has before her. they are vast, but in truth the flame-swept is growing weary of traveling. 

"my path," she begins, "does not include becoming one of your many subordinates," a beat, and then, "if you can offer something more, than perhaps they could." she had been something, on the plains. respected, raised up. she wants it again, but all those that had sought to elevate her were now dead or scattered.

A smirk contorts his handsome face, it becomes devilish when she displays such valid truths behind her words. He too wouldn’t want to join if nothing worthwhile was offered to him. “Then you will not be one of my subordinates.” He states. “If you desire stability, bloodshed, or perhaps a just a place to call home I could help you. If it’s a leadership position you seek, there are still spots open if you prove your worth.” 

He cocks his head slightly, expression inquisitive as he squints canary hues to her, smile still planted firmly on his maw. “What do you want to find in my pack? It’s possible I could deliver, dear.” The promise isn’t empty, it’s a simple request. He wants to know what she’s looking for in order to cater to the she-wolf’s wants. So that their paths can align.

his compromise comes; not one of his subordinates but instead something more is offered. off all the things he offers, she finds herself drawn to none of them. bloodshed without reason is dull, as is stability. and homes; these are common. she could claim the wood in which they stood and call it her own, her home. 

leadership; that could prove promising. she'd been so close, before. the deaths of followers, however, had a way of impeding that. "free reign, to do as I would. power besides, to be regarded with respect, if not as an equal." not all deserved this, some were simply meant to exist at the bottom of the hierarchy. there were other things besides that she sought, but could not put to word. it is, perhaps, a bold desire for the sun-brushed hunter to make of this mountain of a wolf, especially upon first meeting, but there is a test contained within her words, too; how will he receive her wants? and elegant cant of her muzzle, asking if this he would deliver her should she want for it.

He regards her silently. Comfortably lifting his chin an inch or so as her words strike curiosity. He wonders what her motives are.

“I consider all my members as an equal until they prove to me that they aren’t.” Then he tilts his head a playful smirk in place. “Positions of power are challengeable, but only the one favored by most of the pack get the rank in the end. I cannot promise power, but if you are better than your fellow man, prove it and rank shall be given. You will have free reign, though everyone must carry their weight in the pack.” He continues down the line of her wants and requirements. “Respect is what you shall get, sometimes we have to earn it do we not? What is it you seek to find within my pack?” He asks lastly.

the sunstruck listens wordlessly, musing on the possibility he offers. his is nothing like was given to her at the grotto; not bound by those ageless laws of ceremony and tradition. perhaps a lawless place, as seems his claim in comparison, would be a fitting test of her mettle. and here, unbound by family lines or debts, she is free simply to move on should she wish. it is a curious concept, and yet, she does not find herself wanting to commit just yet. "a gift, then," she motions to the rest of the carcass, having taken far less than what would have been an equal share. "for you and yours." 

she steps back, regarding him a beat longer. "what you offer is intriguing. I will think on it." she has all she needs, a location she can find easily enough should she search. one last glance and then she is gone, flicker of flame lost in a few moments times betwixt the trees.

I’m gonna go ahead and fade here! :>

Donovan regard her quietly, a small smile forming as she ponders the thought of his request. Nodding in understanding at her answer. “That’s fine, dear. Think on it. It’s not an easy decision to most.” 

Then just as she appeared she was gone.  Speaking her goodbye in few words, he watches the crimson of her fur fade as she disappears into the tree line. Hopefully he sees her again.